


the worlds we knew

by liberate



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Drabble Collection, M/M, alternative universes, every chapter is a new au, more tags with new drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7378318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberate/pseuds/liberate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>_restart?</i>
</p>
<p>(a collection of alternative universe drabbles)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the worlds we knew

**Author's Note:**

> i think i'm in voltron hell.
> 
> and apparently i have a ton of au ideas for those dorks, so here we go with a collection of drabbles, set within various alternative universes, lenght varies around 1000 - 1500 words.
> 
> it's not only shiro/keith, i promise, i'm just... real trashy

_You don't need to do this._

 

The words burn his throat, no matter how many times he has yelled them within the past minutes, no matter how many times he has thought them ever since he saw this coming. Truth is, he never really saw this coming, because he was naive and vain, and now everything he has worked for his whole life falls apart right before his eyes.

 

Not together with the person he loved, but _because_ of the person he still loves.

 

It's not one of them who broke the rules. They both did, because every kiss they shared was against the law, but as Keith used to say _A law that's dumb is no real law._ He never really thought that way, because there must be a reason why laws like this exist, but he hates the way the universe proved him right – _the end of an era, for you and me_.

 

“If you're doing this because of me, please, I beg you, **stop** ”, his voice reeks of desperation, and it doesn't feel right, because he's meant to be the one of the two of them who's calm – the mature one, the voice of reason, the master to his incredibly talented padawan, to talented for his own good, some people said. Shiro always shook his head at them, because he thought he knew better. _He would never use his talent for anything bad_ , he would say, _he has a good heart._

 

But people with a good heart don't destroy thousand of years in a mere blink of a second. People with a good heart don't slaughter defenceless children simply because the jedi gave them a home. Shiro wonders if he is being torn apart by the fact that it's  _Keith_ doing all this, the boy with the smile that could ignite stars, the same person who blushed at every compliment Shiro ever told him, the best pilot in the galaxy, and Shiro has never seen anyone fly the way he does – and he never will, he figures, or if it's the guilt crushing him, that he is part of all this, that as long as he is even one percent of the reasons Keith is doing this, he doesn't know how he'll look someone in the eye ever again.

 

“Why would you even _consider_ that I'm doing this because of you?”, Keith's voice is a yell, but not the way he used to yell, all anger and explosions, but a cold yell, as sharp as the edge of the blade he wields. “Oh, right, because you're an egocentric idiot, just like any other jedi is.” _When did you stop being a jedi_ , and he can't help but to think it, _did you just woke up one day and decided you were a sith now_? _Is that how everything works? Is that how you grow up? Or was it my fault after all?_

 

The thought stings like a thousand needles, but it's the memories that hurt the most.

 

( _cut_ )

 

“Do you have a name, little one?” “Don't call me that”, his expression is close to a pout, and there's something in his posture that almost makes Shiro laugh, something about the way the boy folds his bruised and dirty arms across his chest, one lens of the pilot-glasses hanging around his neck is cracked, dried blood on his forehead, and yet he manages to look like the boy he is – as if he was playing outdoor with friends and got into a bit of a fight, not like he won a race with the weight of the world on his skinny shoulders and his feet barely touching the pedals of his ship. It's impressive, and a bit frightening, but Shiro figures all good things are that. There's defiance in the boy's eyes when he looks up to Shiro's master. “My name's Keith, but that's none of your business.”

 

( _cut_ )

 

It's night on Coruscant, but the night is just as fake as the silence, because silence isn't real and neither is night, not here, not on this planet he has lived on as long as he can think, because there are always neon-lights and cruisers and people passing the street above and below him, and there's always talk, because there's more to talk than said words, and some things are so much louder than this. This time, the silence is. It has creped into his room when he was looking away, and now he can't get rid of it, because he can't even look at it anymore without the pain tearing him apart.

 

It's the first night without his master in the room next to him, and it feels like a world falling apart over and over again, only that he is the only one who notices. Thinking about it feels like touching a bruise, skin carved open and you put your finger on it and watch it bleed. People used to talk about it like it was a relieve, about how you were supposed to feel better afterwards, but the truth is: it makes him want to scream and run for hours and swallow the tears he can't cry anymore, but jedis aren't supposed to do any of these things. They are supposed to move on. Shiro wants to turn back time and stay there forever.

 

“I'm sorry.” The words come from the doorframe, and Shiro is too exhausted to notice or to move or to be scared. “So am I”, he says, and the words sound even more bitter than in his thoughts. He can see the hestitation within Keith's body language, even in the dark room, the way his hand reaches for the door-handle, and the way he drops it again, moving closer in steps that don't look like the way he usally moves, all hunter and self-control. It looks human and messy and there's pain in Shiro's chest, pain he can't identify and that grows stronger with every step Keith takes towards him.

 

( _cut_ )

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

It's the second time Keith says those words to him, and this time, Shiro doesn't know why, and that's what scares him the most. “What are you apologizing for?”, he replies, but it's not an answer he wants to here, and he hates himself for it – because wasn't he supposed to be the adult somewhere along the line? Instead, he's a dimly lit star next to a boy who is a whole galaxy somehow fit into pale skin and bright blue eyes and more talent than anyone could handle. Sometimes Shiro catches himself, lying awake at night, wondering if there was even a single thing he taught Keith. He isn't as sure about it as he should be.

 

So when he pulls away from the kiss, a part of him hates Keith for still replying. “For what I'm going to do.” Shiro's laugh is a little weak and shaky. “Are you going to tell me what you're going to do?”, and Keith just shakes his head. “Something that's good for all of us. You could call it a revolution, I guess, and you always said I was made for revolution.” Yes, he had said that, and this moment makes him regret it – even if it's true, because people like Keith aren't made to _follow_ orders. Wildfires don't listen to anybody except themselves, and galaxies weren't scared by a warning or rules.

 

He's left with regret and the question _do you love me, or the rules we're breaking_? _am i your morgue or a mere piece in the revolution? and when you overthrow the world_. . .

 

( _cut_ )

 

_where am I?_

 

Answer: On the other side of the blade, lava and fire burning up and falling down around him. The person behind the trigger, he figures, the person the universe has picked to stop this madness. And he has failed, has merely watched the revolution no one wanted, has watched Keith being used by the emperor.

 

It's the end of the line. The clock has been ticking for years, ever since their first kiss and their first fight and the things they shouldn't have said and shouldn't have done. 00:00. Zero. Everything ends eventually, he just wished it could've been differently.

“I'm sorry, Keith”, the words feel heavier than any burden he ever carried. “Your revolution ends here.”

 

His hands don't shake as he lifts up his lightsaber.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (this was such a pain to write and it came out so bad, but . . . no helping it. next one will be better, i promise)


End file.
